Cullen the Virgin
by Cantique
Summary: We were discussing on Twitter how Cullen lost his virginity in the first place. We came to this conclusion. OneShot, Cullen/Femquisitor, Implied Cullen/FWarden, set in both DA2 and Inquisition. Whatever man I swear I will finish Inquisition one day. It's just so long tho


Cullen couldn't even begin to explain to the woman across from him how uncomfortable he was right now. Honestly? He could hardly string two words together to begin with.

The woman who stood across from him – Ela? Eela? Eva? His ears were throbbing too loud for him to have caught it properly – watched him curiously, an eyebrow raised. Maker, she was pretty, and that only made this predicament worse.

"...Are... you okay?" She asked. Her voice was as soft as her blonde curls. _Blondes have more fun,_ the men had said only 15 minutes before. She didn't look like she was from the Free Marches, and she didn't sound Orlesian. Maybe she was Ferelden. Just like him.

"It's... it's m-my b-birthday," he finally managed to stutter, feeling his face flush as he tried his best to avoid eye contact.

Her eyes thinned in thought before she released a gasp of understanding. "_Oh!_ I see!" She exclaimed, rolling her shoulders and stepping towards him. "Well, let me wish you a _very_ happy birthday." Cullen stepped back suddenly. Her voice had to have dropped in tone by at _least_ an octave – and the last time a woman had taken _that_ tone with him was... was...

"I... I should..." He gestured to the door nervously, a panic setting in. "I... you..."

The woman paused, her face becoming entirely concerned, if not a little offended. "Are you _sure_ you're alright?" She asked, her voice soft once more. He preferred it when she talked like that, really, it was less... forthcoming. "Were you looking for something else? Because there's no refunds, you know."

Cullen shook his head adamantly, reaching out to stop her from stepping any closer. "No!" He exclaimed. "Not at all! I mean. I uh... I... wasn't _looking_ for anything... I... uh... my... my friends... they..." he took a deep breath. This was pathetic, even for _him._ "It's my birthday today and my friends decided to help me celebrate by..." he gestured to her.

"Ah," she began, a sudden clarity to her voice. "They surprised you with a working girl and you're feeling a little awkward, is that it?"

The most that Cullen could do was nod. If he'd been anyone else, this would have been no more than a humorous misunderstanding that would probably lead to a happy ending. But he wasn't anyone else. He was Knight Captain Cullen of Kirkwall, and he was in the Blooming Rose, courtesy of his own men, expected to spend the evening in the company of a woman he couldn't even recall the name of. Maker help him if anyone else found out about this. Ever.

She gave a sigh, her shoulders dropping a little. "Well, that's a shame, then," she crossed her arms, looking him up and down. "You're definitely one of the better looking customers to come through my door." She paused, giving him a soft smile. "But you can't go back out there early, can you?" She asked. "Not with your friends out there."

He felt mildly relieved to hear her say this, to know she at least partially understood his current situation. "No," he sighed. "I can't."

"Come on," she laughed, moving to the bed before plonking herself down on the edge of it. She patted the covers beside her. "Let's just talk, then. I won't bite." Cullen quickly scanned the room. No seats anywhere else. Just the bed. He almost questioned what kind of establishment it was to have no seating, but then he quickly reminded himself where he was and felt even _more_ like a fool. "You must have a lucky girl, then," she laughed as he joined her, although he deliberately put more space between him and her than she'd originally intended, "to find a man so loyal. Not many turn down a free evening of company, attached or not."

"Attached?" He repeated. "Oh, I uh," he cleared his throat. "I... don't have... my lifestyle doesn't really..."

"_Oh,_" she gasped. "You prefer the company of men, then?" She asked. "No shame in that, at least not here. Pretty sure they openly accept that sort of business in Orlais-"

"C-company of m-m-m- Maker, no!" He stammered, turning bright red again. "No, I c-c-completely prefer women!" He insisted. "Or uh... I mean... I find women to be..." he gave a cough. "Can we talk about something else? Please?" He asked. "_Anything?_"

She stared at him for what seemed to be an unnatural amount of time, and despite knowing very, _very _little about her, he could tell that the cogs of her mind were turning away. "...You've never been with a woman, have you?" She asked, her eyes widening as she came to the cruel realisation. "Oh my."

"W-well... I... uh... I've just... never really met anyone... except one... b-but that was... she was... is it hot in here?" He asked, glancing to the fireplace as he reached up to dab at his brow. The fireplace wasn't even _lit._

"You poor, poor man," she crooned. "You don't even know what you're turning down." She gently reached out and patted him on the arm. Even with his armour he could tell how gentle she was, and all of a sudden it was all he could think about. "If you don't mind me asking, is there a reason?" she asked, her head tilted with curiosity. "Is it because you've taken vows, or...?"

Cullen shook his head. "No. There's just... it's never presented itself. Erm, t-that is to say... I didn't mean for that to sound that way when I s-said it!"

"A good looking Templar like you?" She asked, reaching out and, to Cullen's horror, taking his hand between hers and bringing them to rest on her lap. "Aren't you even a little curious?"

He gulped his own saliva – her skin was so smooth against his own. Of _course_ he was curious. He'd been curious for years, ragingly so after the incident with the Hero of Ferelden, before she had any name other than Solona Amell. "W-well... y-y-yes," he stammered. "B-but... I couldn't..."

"Darling," she crooned, smiling at him. "You don't need to feel guilty. This is my job, after all. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't to my liking." She leaned across to him, her face inches from his ear. He could hear her breath and smell her hair – it smelled like cinnamon and the incense they used in the Chantry. _Maker_, now he was thinking about the Revered Mother, and this was _not the time. "_Let Ella help you."

Ella. That was her name. _Ella_. It was Ella who was moving her lips down his neck, and unfastening his armour with an expertise that he found impressive, to be frank. It was Ella who guided him and taught him where to kiss and where he should hold her firmly and where he should brush her gently. It was Ella who didn't mind his awkward fumbling, or his hesitancy, or the way he would clench his eyes shut momentarily at times to fight off the flashbacks of the visions those demons had given him about this. It was Ella who didn't give any notice to the way he sighed 'Solona' by accident at his peak.

It was Ella who spent the rest of the night listening to him talk about Amell, about how the war in Ferelden had left his thoughts of her scarred, trying his best not to further embarrass himself by crying. He knew this was part of the service his men had paid for, but it was more relieving to finally express it than anything physical they'd done in that bed.

And it was Ella who helped him dress when their time was up, pinched his rear (to his horror) and told him to visit again, offering even more things to learn – an offer he took her up on.

* * *

><p>"You said you've never been in a relationship with anyone," the Inquisitor laughed laying with her head against her Commander's chest as they gazed up at the stars through the cracks in the aged and broken roof of his quarters. "But you've <em>been<em> with someone, right? I mean, before me."

"What?" Cullen asked, a humored chuckle in his voice as he looked away from the sky and watched her face. "That's an odd question."

"I mean," she shook her head, grinning as she spoke, "you don't learn how to do _that_ without something phenomenal happening in your life." The Inquisitor shifted so she could gaze up at his face. "Was it the Hero of Ferelden?"

"Of course not," he quickly choked, trying his best to not stutter. "No, no, nothing... nothing ever happened there. You know that." He paused. "I was a nervous wreck at eighteen. I'd be lucky to hand a parchment to a girl without sweating myself into an illness, let alone bed one."

"Hawke?" She asked. Her expression had changed as he spoke. It was less curious now, more mischievous.

"_Maker,_ no!" He laughed. "Even _if_ Hawke hadn't been an Apostate and wasn't with that _other_ terrible Apostate with the feathery... things," he struggled to remember the word, instead gesturing to his shoulders as if it would jog his memory. "Hawke both looked far too much like her cousin Solana for comfort _and_ scared the absolute daylights out of me, to be honest." He paused, speaking under his breath. "Especially the way she talked to Meredith. Either the bravest or maddest woman I've ever met."

The Inquisitor gave a sigh. "Whoever it was," she relented, gently easing back in to him, "I feel as though I should write her a note thanking her." The Inquisitor quickly raised her hand. "Joking," she clarified. "That was a joke. You can laugh, now." Even though he _knew_ that, his first instinct had been to take her literally, a result of what had been almost a lifetime in the military – Maker, she knew him so well already.

Giving a chuckle, he stroked her hair, running his fingers through it all the way to the ends as they both returned their gaze to the sky. "There's a very kind and patient woman in Kirkwall," he explained, a smile on his face. "Let's leave it at that."


End file.
